


Fic: A Hole in Me

by ScoutLover



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoutLover/pseuds/ScoutLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://anntarot.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://anntarot.livejournal.com/"></a><b>anntarot</b> for the Leverage Secret Santa exchange. Among the prompts she left was <i>Eliot realizing how much he misses Sophie</i><br/>Obviously, given the above prompt, this is second season. It’s a tag to “The Zanzibar Marketplace Job.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: A Hole in Me

Eliot trudged with heavy steps into his living room, dropped his keys and phone onto the coffee table, then dropped his body onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, letting his head fall back against the cushions and closing his eyes.

Fuck, what a mess.

Nate had screwed up again, and had almost gotten himself and Maggie killed.

Sterling was now Interpol, and in a position to make _them_ his own personal crusade.

And … he missed Sophie.

That last both was and wasn’t a surprise. He’d always known the _team_ would miss her. After all, they needed a grifter for what they did, and Sophie was, without question, the best. None of them could come near matching her skill, her _art_ , and they were definitely at a disadvantage without her. Hell, Hardison had proved that with his fucking Ice Man disaster. A team of con artists _needed_ a grifter.

And Sophie Devereaux was queen of the grifters.

Of course, she’d remedied that little problem by sending in Tara. And, yeah, Tara wasn’t Sophie. She was brash, cocky and hard-edged, rough where Sophie was smooth and cool where Sophie was warm. And she had _lied_ to them; _conned_ them. But she was damned good at what she did and had managed to carve out her own place on the team. He was professional enough to appreciate her skill, and man enough to appreciate her … other attributes. True, he’d been pissed – no, _furious_ – enough at the way she’d chosen to introduce herself to kill her, but he’d gotten over that – eventually – and now even … liked her. Maybe. Okay, he … whatever. And Sophie had sent her.

_So I don’t have to worry about you._

He groaned and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. _So I don’t have to worry about you._ Except that, judging by this latest job, she still had plenty to worry about. Nate was drinking again, still wasn’t quite over Maggie, still couldn’t quite figure out how to separate his personal feelings and _issues_ from the job at hand, still was capable of an appalling blindness when those feelings and issues were involved–

And Sophie wasn’t here to talk him down. Wasn’t here to point out the gaping holes in his reasoning. Wasn’t here to point out what his fuck-ups were doing to _them_.

Nate had almost gotten himself and Maggie killed.

He’d been so consumed by his jealousy of Lundy, so blinded by his instant loathing of the man, that he’d failed to see what _should_ have been obvious at the first – a man as stupid and as desperate as Lundy couldn’t possibly have put together such a clean con. Stealing the egg, framing Maggie, even adjusting his plan to account for _their_ interference … Lundy couldn’t possibly have done it. And Nate should have seen that, _would_ have seen it once, without the fog of alcohol and Maggie–

And with Sophie there to make him fucking _focus_.

Oh, yeah, the team needed her. Tara was good, but she didn’t know Nate well enough to understand his excesses and didn’t have any real interest in trying to rein them in. Parker and Hardison were still too in awe of the man’s brilliance to call him on his bullshit, and at this point _he_ didn’t have the patience to do it. Not without bashing Nate’s head in.

Besides, he’d been a little busy this time trying to pull Nate and Maggie’s asses out of the fire. Granted, it had been nice getting back to the retrieval side of the business, getting to flex his mind rather than just his muscles, but he could really have done without having to retrieve _them_. Especially with a fucking _bomb_ involved. Maybe if Sophie had been there, things wouldn’t have gone so quickly and so completely to shit–

Yeah, he missed her.

But … not just for her influence over Nate. And _that_ was the surprise.

He sighed heavily and pushed himself to his feet, feeling tired to his bones. But it wasn’t just from this job; hell, it wasn’t like he’d had to kick anybody’s ass this time. He wandered into his kitchen, opened the fridge and got a beer, then popped the top and took a long swig. The weariness was, by now, a chronic thing, a cumulative thing, born from the weight of a constant worry he seemed to be carrying alone. Nate was starting to spin out again, and he wasn’t sure anyone saw it but him.

Tara didn’t know Nate well enough, didn’t have enough history with him, to see what was happening. Hardison wanted to believe in the man too much to see it. And Parker … Jesus, who knew what the fuck she saw? So long as Nate turned her loose in a heist now and then, she was happy. Besides, from what little he knew of her background, she probably thought a drunken asshole fucking up everybody’s lives was normal. Which–

No. He was _not_ going there. He just didn’t have the energy for _her_ shithouse of a past right now.

He grabbed another beer, closed the fridge and went back to the living room, back to the couch, sinking down onto it with another sigh and setting his beers on the table. Nate … Parker … Jesus, when had he started letting these people get to him like this? They were supposed to be just teammates, just people he worked with, not … whatever the hell it was they’d become. He didn’t need to be spending his time worrying about them, couldn’t for the life of him imagine when he’d started to care about them or why. He wasn’t good at this, had forgotten how to do it–

And, goddamn it, _this_ was why they needed Sophie! Why _he_ needed her! _She_ was the one who watched over them, who worried and fretted over them, who kept Nate, or tried to, from going _too_ far over the edge, who somehow managed to keep Parker tethered to _this_ reality, who made sure Hardison didn’t get sucked so far down into one of his geek spirals that he’d never come out, who–

_Listen, you don’t have to do this. Nate’s gonna come up with something._

He winced and bowed his head, exhaling softly at the memory. She’d been worried about _him_ back in Lincoln. Worried not just about the blows he’d take to his body, but the ones he’d take to his pride, to his soul.

_I’m not talking physically. You told me it’s about control, about knowing you’re never going to be the victim. That’s what keeps you going, right?_

Jesus, when was the last time someone had worried about _him_? About what his life, his … profession … might do to _him_? He’d had to pretend to kill a guy in front of an audience, had had to push himself dangerously near losing his precious control, had had to turn himself into a mindless monster for that audience–

And she’d been frightened for _him_. Not the guy he was fighting, not for the outcome of the con, but for _him_ , for the burden he had to carry and the toll it might take on him, for the piece of himself he might have to sacrifice in the process. Because she believed there was still something of him left to lose.

Or to save.

And … it had been a long damn time since anyone had thought that. Eliot Spencer had been a lost cause for so long now that he’d stopped thinking about it, stopped worrying about it. He was so far beyond redemption that it just didn’t matter any more.

Except to Sophie Devereaux. Who, for some strange reason, seemed to think he wasn’t completely lost yet. Seemed to think there was more to him than just muscle and violence. Seemed to think there was still a man worth saving, worth protecting, in there somewhere.

But it hadn’t been just that job in Lincoln. She’d also worried about him back in Kentucky, when they’d gone down to help Willie. And Aimee. He’d stepped back into a past he’d sworn was over and done, into a time he’d sworn was gone for good … and into arms he’d sworn were closed to him forever. And Sophie had been worried about the hurt he might suffer as a result. Maybe because she’d somehow seen he wasn’t quite as over Aimee as he’d told himself he was, or maybe just because she knew only too well what lay down the path she and Nate kept walking. Whatever it was, she’d kept an eye on him during the job, and on the flight back after, and in the days following, she’d kept the others, especially Hardison, from prying too deeply or using the unexpected vulnerability he’d revealed to tease him.

Both in Kentucky and Lincoln, and in a thousand and one small ways between those jobs and since, she’d taken it upon herself to look after him until she’d been sure he could do the job himself.

_She had a way of takin’ care of people, you know? She was a sister, she was a best friend, all rolled into one._

He’d meant the words he’d spoken at her “funeral.”

_I’m gonna miss you, so, so much–_

He just hadn’t known _how_ much at the time.

Was only just beginning to realize that now.

And now wondered if maybe he could have done a better job of taking care of _her_ when _she’d_ needed it.

He groaned and heaved himself to his feet again, pacing restlessly about his living room and running a hand through his hair, unable to help feeling that he, all of them, had let her down somehow. Could they have done something? Could _he_ have done something? _Should_ he have done something?

Hell, he’d seen how she’d been floundering ever since that private school job, and getting dumped by The Boyfriend (asshole). She’d discovered she _wasn’t_ Nate during the Monica Hunter job. (And thank fucking Christ for that. One Nate was quite enough, thank you very much; two would have been … shit, that didn’t even bear thinking about.) But realizing who she _wasn’t_ hadn’t helped her figure out who she _was_ , and it had been downhill from there. He knew that spiral, had been caught up in it a time or two himself, knew only too well the psychological vertigo that came with discovering you have no fucking clue who you are any more.

Oh, yeah, he understood. And though hearing that she was leaving had hit him like a punch to the gut – or the heart – he hadn’t lifted a finger to stop her. Because he knew. She’d lost something vital to herself and needed to get it back. Hell, who understood that better than a retrieval specialist? So he’d wished her well and let her go.

Only now he wished he’d done something else, done something _more_. Except that he knew _he_ wasn’t the one she’d needed that “more” from. What she needed wasn’t his to give, and not all the wishing in the world would make it otherwise.

Still …

He turned and looked at the phone he’d dropped on the table. He really should call her, check in with her, let her know they were back and all okay. Or … relatively so. He couldn’t decide whether he should tell her _everything_ that had happened, though he knew he probably would in the end. But she deserved to know about Sterling, at least, and that they’d cleared Maggie–

Which meant he’d tell her everything. Fuck it, he needed to talk to _someone_ , and, somewhere along the line, that _someone_ had become _Sophie_. And, yeah, that had been a surprise, too. Because, hell, it wasn’t as if they’d exactly _liked_ each other at the start. She’d thought he was too rough around the edges, and, like so many others, had assumed his mind stopped where his muscles began. And he … well, hell, he’d considered her a bit of a princess, really, too wrapped up in herself, always looking for the angle that would benefit _her_ –

Hell, she was a _gifter_ , for Christ’s sake, which meant she couldn’t be trusted. She lied for a living, and by nature. Hadn’t she proven that with the David job? She’d gotten them busted by Sterling, forced them to blow up their own fucking offices, gotten him busted ribs and a concussion as a souvenir, and all because she couldn’t resist being the only thief in history to steal _both_ Davids.

Shit, there’d once been a time when he would have _killed_ anyone who’d betrayed him like that, used him like that, exposed his team to that kind of danger. Hell, he _had_ killed people for that, and for less. Instead, he’d–

Forgiven her. Given her another chance and let her back in. Yeah, he still threw that little episode back at her every now and then, but only to remind her what _could_ happen if she went too far again. Besides, forgiving was _not_ the same as forgetting. People in his line of work couldn’t afford to forget. Risk management, and all that. They were thieves and conmen with all the temptations and weaknesses their kind of life entailed, and, no matter what they said, people like them never really changed.

No. He’d forgiven her, but he hadn’t forgotten. Couldn’t afford to forget, because he _knew_ her–

And he missed her. Missed the Sophie who could light up like a Christmas tree at the thought of scoring a valuable piece of art one minute and frown worriedly over some particularly nasty blow he’d taken the next, who could scam the most tight-assed CEO into handing over the secrets of his company and then turn around and help Parker figure out how to smile at someone without looking like a psycho–

Fuck it, he missed the Sophie who could just sit with him at the table and _talk_ to him over a cup of coffee or glass of wine like he was a _man_ and not some soulless killing machine! He missed the stories of exotic locales and past jobs they’d swapped while he cooked, missed the habit of sly teasing and easy flirting they’d fallen into without even realizing it.

He just missed _her_.

He went back to the sofa and sat down, closing his eyes against the hard twinge of loss that assailed him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to care about these people, wasn’t supposed to need them in his life and miss them when they left. And he wasn’t supposed to mourn the pieces of himself they took with them.

Because, damn it, there weren’t supposed to be any pieces of him _left_

Except that Sophie had found a few, and had smiled in delight over each one, like a thief discovering some new treasure. But instead of stealing them, she’d given them back to him–

He leaned forward and reached for the open beer, staring at his phone the whole time. He’d call her, he knew he would, and he’d tell her everything. He always did. He’d start off by playing down the danger, trying to spare her the worry, but eventually he’d spill it all and they’d be off on a long and familiar conversation. He’d bitch about Nate and his goddamned _issues_ , about Parker and Hardison and the latest ways they’d found to drive him fucking _nuts_ , and even, because it was who he was and what he did, about Tara getting on his nerves. And she’d cluck and scold and talk him down from murder. He’d scowl when she laughed at his complaints, imagine her rolling her eyes and shaking her head at his bluster, ignore the warmth that blossomed in his chest when she said his name–

And he’d try not to think about how much like his early days in the Army it was, when he’d been scared and homesick and certain he’d gotten in over his head, and had called home in a fit of loneliness. Just hearing Mama’s voice, soft and sweet and warm and _her_ , had made it all okay again even as tears had stung his eyes–

But Sophie Devereaux _wasn’t_ his Mama, goddamn it, and he wasn’t that kid who needed reassuring any more, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to spill a few fucking tears because of a voice on the _phone_. He was Eliot fucking Spencer, a grown man, a _professional_ –

And, God help him, he missed Sophie.

He bypassed the beer and picked up his phone.

Maybe this time he’d work up the nerve to tell her.

_The End_


End file.
